


Swept

by Birdbitch



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeus’s seduction and subsequent abduction of Ganymede.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a commission for sarilabelle! And while I say abduction, I’m coming at it from the perspective that Ganymede doesn’t mind it so much. Ganymede is about 20 years old.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a prince goes to bed with his tutor, has a dream that he’s been carried off to Mount Olympus in the grip of an eagle’s talons, and wakes up in bed with Zeus. Wakes up with Zeus, who it turns out was the tutor all along, and he looks mostly the same, but he’s bigger, so much bigger, like the mountain itself when you get close to it in comparison from viewing afar.

 

——

 

Ganymede knows that it’s not really him who’s supposed to be doing the seducing; it isn’t his job, really, but this kind man who came from Greece who is here to teach and wants specifically Ganymede to be his pupil who needs to do the convincing that he’s the right match. Doesn’t matter. Ganymede has wanted him, wanted the man who went by Keraunios since he stepped foot into the palace the first time as a guest of the king, and he doesn’t care much for the games of courtship.

He hasn’t cared much for them at all, if he’s being honest, but he plays them because he’s supposed to, and because Keraunios (“Of the Thunderbolt,” he had said, and it made Ganymede laugh then) seems to like them enough.

But now?

It’s hot outside and he’s terribly tired and unwilling to keep at it.

“I already have a tutor, you know,” he says. “You persist.”

“You deserve a better one.” They sit together on a bench, heat of the middle of summer bearing down like Ganymede cannot remember it having done so in the past. (But then, he always has trouble remembering how hot or cool things were before, has trouble comparing temperature and weather, and always has.)

“If I accept, what do you do?” he asks. It comes out lazy and he’s fanning himself with his hand. A trail of sweat makes its way down the side of the man’s face and Ganymede resists an urge to wipe it away. Keraunios does it himself, and it makes Ganymede’s fingers itch. It wasn’t the first bead of sweat, won’t be the last, he assumes, but he wants to touch his face, wants to feel where the beard begins sprouting. That’s another thing about this tutor, or potential one; he doesn’t shave, not nearly as much as the other men in the court. He’s different. Foreign. Even if it weren’t for the fact that he’s had the same tutor since he was 14—-six years is a long time—-he’d probably still want this one instead.

“I suppose it’s up to you.”

Ganymede knows he’s being watched carefully, so he unties the rope around his tunic and leans back. They’re alone, which is generally not permitted, and there’s no chance of anybody finding him because everyone has taken refuge in other corridors of the palace. His is in the hottest wing, with his own private courtyard, and he’s already thinking about how much he’s going to miss it when he has to leave. “Say that I accept right now,” he says, scratching his shoulder idly. “What happens?”

The man shrugs and chuckles. “I suppose I start teaching you.”

“Teaching what?”

“All of those academic subjects. Rhetoric. Mathematics. Philosophy. What you’re supposed to know as a man.”

Nobody has ever accused Ganymede of being patient, and he’s losing whatever amount of patience he might have had in the first place. (He’s had dreams, of course, of this man, of being pushed down and taken, of doing things that still are making him blush, of kissing and being kissed, and right now, he supposes he plans on doing all of them.) But he can persist, if Keraunios refuses to give in. He leans in closer. This isn’t his job, but there’s a light in the man’s eyes that flashes when he presses their shoulders together. “What I’m supposed to know as a man,” he repeats. He can feel his voice catch in his throat. “I want a preview. I’m twenty, now. What if I already know what you want to teach me?”

“I doubt it,” Keraunios says.

“Show me.”

And Ganymede—-finally! finally!—-gets what he’s been wanting for the past six months of this unbearable play. With the back of his head cushioned by one of Keraunios’ large hands, he’s pushed on his back against the bench and feels his mouth being ravished. He tries to kiss back, to do something, but he’s not as experienced, can’t really be expected to be. He tries anyways, reaches and digs his fingernails into the man’s broad shoulders. He must be part giant; he feels larger than before, pressing against Ganymede and rocking his hips down.

But the heat of the summer has never been much a friend to Ganymede before, and his heart is beating too fast, blood too hot and sun too high in the sky. He can feel Keraunios pulling away and wants to react, wants to complain and pull him back, but the world is going sepia toned and his hearing is fuzzy before it drops away completely. There’s concern on the man’s face, his mouth moving, and then—-maybe he imagines it. Maybe it’s a fabrication of his mind as he passes out, but he could swear the man was turning into a bird.

 

—-

It doesn’t take that long for Ganymede to realize he’s not in his own bed when he wakes. He’s nowhere in the palace, actually, and in the second it takes to realize that, he starts to panic. Something heavy is holding him still, heavy and warm and maybe, if the situation were different, he’d find the weight comforting. As it stands, it’s not. He’s scared and confused. The last thing he can remember is that strange metamorphosis of Keraunios into a bird—-and eagle, maybe—-and then brief dreamlike sequences of being carried over large stretches of land.

Physically, though, he feels the best he’s ever felt in his life. He feels like he’s made of some unbreakable fiber and he wants to move, to stretch and run and dance, and the need is so vastly different from his mental state that it’s going to tear him in half.

The weight over his chest moves and he realizes it’s an arm, connected to a warm pressing against his back and breathing warm air against his ear. “You’re awake.”

“Keraunios—-” he’s ready to fight, to shout, to accuse, to do a million things, but he’s stopped by a hand over his mouth.

“It’s Zeus, here,” he answers. His voice is tired, like he’s sore, though it makes no sense. When Ganymede turns, he’s greeted by the same face, but everything is so much larger, and he feels so much smaller. “Forgive me.”

“Where are we?”

“Mount Olympus. I realized—-I acted impulsively. But, I was. Afraid. And I brought you here, without asking, without knowing if it would be alright.”

His tone tells Ganymede that he’s never going to be able to leave Mount Olympus. “I. What am I to do, then?” he asks. He was a prince, but when have the gods ever paid much attention to mortal royalty? “Sit here forever?”

“I’ll find something. I. I did not want to leave you on Earth.” Keraunios—-Zeus, now—-sits up, pulling Ganymede up with him. “I like you. You would have been unsafe. I wanted you.”

“And now?” Ganymede frowns. “Do you still want me?”

“I should be the one asking. You never formally accepted me, did you?”

He frowns at Zeus. “You were playing too many games. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“True,” Zeus answers. “Let me love you. You passed out—-I believe it might have been the heat—-and I never got to finish what we were about to do.”

Ganymede acquiesces. It isn’t as though he would have said no, anyways. It isn’t as though he isn’t happy to be chosen as one of Zeus’s lovers, either. Unexpected turn of events. He’ll deal with the rest of everything later, when he’s alone and can think straight. Right now, Zeus’s hand is warm on the small of his back, and when he looks at the god, he still wants, wants more than maybe he might have any right to. “Six months. Was that it?”

“I’ve wanted you since I laid my eyes on you,” the god admits. It sounds sheepish, like he’s embarrassed for admitting it. “I didn’t know how else to try to win you.”

“If you want me, then take me,” Ganymede answers. He leans forward and kisses the corner of Zeus’s mouth and rocks his hips against Zeus’s thick thigh. “I’m here. Make me glad you’ve stolen me.”

And again, he’s on his back, and he can’t help but smile into the kiss when Zeus almost consumes him, because, isn’t this what he wanted to begin with? And besides, why is Zeus doing it? To win his heart. He’s still in control of the situation. “Zeus,” he says. “I want you.” He hears Zeus moan against his shoulder and smiles even more.


End file.
